The Complete Diaries of a Young Lady

by Victor Bruno

  Seeing the direction of my gaze, Sergeant Faraday smiled faintly. “Surprised?” he enquired. I could make no answer; only gulp. Surely he didn’t intend to cane me for no reason! “It’s quite common,” he went on, “for a mother - or a father - to send a girl down here for me to deal with. For some reason or other, they don’t like punishing a girl themselves, even if they do know a taste of the cane will usually bring her up sharp. Petty offences usually. Not worth taking to Court ... but they still have to be punished.” He paused and stroked his brown moustache. “Had a couple of youngsters down here earlier, as a matter of fact. One sixteen, one seventeen. Gave them a dozen each with their knickers down. Didn’t like it one little bit, did they? But I’m sure they’ll behave better in future.” He paused. “You been behaving, Joan?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” I answered meekly. “Dad not had to use his cane then?” “No, Sergeant.”

  He stood up, strolled over to the door and, to my surprise, locked it. He came back, slowly, confidentially. “Push down your skirt ... and your knickers, Joan,” he said as calmly as you please. I was stunned. Dismayed. So he was going to cane me? But why? Just for his own pleasure!

  “W-Why ... w-why ... are ... y-you going to c-cane me?” I stammered.

  “I’m not going to cane you, Joan,” he said. He took £2 from his pocket and put them on the desk before me. “I’m going to fuck you.” He grinned. “I’m making uses of the services of a known prostitute.” A wail of horror burst from me and I covered my face with my hands.

  “Noooo ... nnnnooooooo ... NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I cried despairingly.

  “And, if you give any trouble, my girl, I shall have to cane you first. It will be a pleasure, I assure you!” Oh God ... oh God ... I knew how truly he spoke!

  Once again I knew total defeat.

  Once again I knew I was going to have to submit.

  “Oooooh .... how c-can you ... mmmfff ... mmmf ...” I sobbed, “you ... you’re old enough t ... to be my father ...”

  He gave a little chuckle. “Makes it all the more enjoyable,” he said. He took off his jacket and began to remove his trousers. I turned away. “Come on,” he said, “let’s have that backside bare!”

  My breasts heaving wildly with incessant sobs, I pushed down my skirt and then my knickers. He gave me a little push in the back and I fell over his desk.

  Then the brute was upon me.

  He was heavier, his horrible cock was bigger, and he was more piggish. What was worse, he took far longer than Mr. Mason had done. I think he must have pounded away into me for all of ten minutes, constantly threatening me with the cane if I wasn’t more ‘co-operative’.

  Oh that filthy beast really enjoyed himself! He gasped, he groaned, he grunted piggishly as he mounted steadily to a climax. And when, at last, it was over, he lay there for a long time crushing me down so that I could hardly breathe.

  “Don’t forget your two quid,” he said later, when we had both redressed. I almost didn’t pick it up. It was so shaming to do so. But then, it would have been foolish not to, wouldn’t it? He opened the door. “See you in a fortnight’s time, Joan,” he said with a smirk.

  I said nothing. Feeling weak-kneed, I stumbled past him and ran away down the corridor.

  This evening Dad asked me if everything had gone alright with Sergeant Faraday. Could he possibly know what had happened? Surely not!

  “He seem pleased that I had been behaving well,” I said.

  “Good ... good ...” he nodded. “Hope for your sake, Joan, you keep it up.” November 14th

  Yesterday, I am sure, was the worse day of my life.

  Only now, on the following evening, have I been able to write about it. Almost too horrible to put down on paper.

  The day began with Mr. Mason fucking me in the morning. Just as horrible as ever. He said he was thinking about making me suck him but I know I’ll never be able to do that!

  Then I got home and made Dad his supper. After that, I broke a plate. Breakages are always punished in our household, usually with the strap. However, when Dad came up to my room just after nine o’clock, he had a cane in his hand. His face was even more flushed than usual and his eyes bright as he announced he was going to give me a dozen.

  I knelt on the bed with me nightie pulled high, yelping with pain into my scarf-gag, as stroke succeed stroke. Pure agony, as always.

  Afterwards, I made to get under my covers but he said: “Stay just where you are, Joan.” I turned back to look at him and, with utter disbelief, saw him placing £2 on my bedside table.

  “Don’t see why I shouldn’t have some of what those other two are getting,” he said. “After all, there’s no blood relationship.” He was grinning in a sloppy fashion. “And, as they say, you are a known prostitute.”

  I wished I could have died at that moment. But I didn’t.

  And I think it best to draw a decent veil over what then took place.

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